The Science Of Being Human
by paper frog
Summary: Sherlock discovers more and more of real human behaviour and feelings, thanks to John Watson...
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: _

_As usual... I do not own anything. It all belongs to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. Did anyone mention yet you do a fantastic job? Well...mentioned now. :-)_

Prologue:

To John Watson, Sherlock Holmes was a wonder of nature. Incredibly clever, exceptionally fast thinking and extraordinarily gifted. To John Watson, Sherlock Holmes was the most brilliant brain in the whole of Britain. Including Commonwealth Nations.

To Sherlock Holmes, John Watson was – no offence – an idiot. He was like any other of these billions of people who lived their lives on the same planet as he did. The only thing that made John the exception among these billions of other people was that he sometimes got through. In some moments John said something (stupid, mostly) and got through Sherlock's constantly hard-working brain – right into his core. And these were the moments when Sherlock felt something inside that he had very rarely sensed so far. He felt like a proper human being. He had never found out what the trick was; the only thing he knew was: there were only few people who had that effect on him. Very few. Actually, the number could probably be reduced to one. To him. John Watson.


	2. One - Being honest

_Disclaimer: _

_As usual... I do not own anything. It all belongs to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. Did anyone mention yet you do a fantastic job? Well...mentioned now. :-)_

**One **

**Being honest**

_ (set a few weeks after "A Scandal In Belgravia")_

It was one of these quiet evenings in 221B Baker Street. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair - thinking - and John at the desk, writing another entry for his blog. The only noise in the room was the constant clatter of the keys John was tapping away on. Until even that suddenly died.

"Sherlock?" There was a certain hesitance in his voice as if he feared one of his flatmate's infamous outbreaks that usually very unkindly demanded of John not to disturb the genius' thinking.

But, to his surprise, what he got as an answer was merely a relaxed, "Hm?"

"I'm just about to write the story about that Adler-Woman. Not for the blog, I know I'm not allowed to, thanks to the Official Secrets Act, but just to… have it written down for us. Just in case you want to look it up one day… okay, that's quite unrealistic, I know, but… well, anyway I'm writing it down and I just wondered…"

"What?" Sherlock interrupted him, as usual slightly irritated by John's elaborate explanations.

"I just wondered why Moriarty spoke of Mycroft as "The Ice Man"."

"Wrong."

"May be the case that it's wrong, I just want to know why."

"No, you're wrong. What you want to know is why Moriarty spoke of me as "The Virgin."

John had wanted to carefully approach the subject so he wouldn't alienate Sherlock. But he should have known. No one can successfully trick Sherlock Holmes. So he surrendered to a truth already revealed and admitted that his friend was right.

„Yes. Yes, indeed, that's what I'm asking myself."

"If you instead asked me rather than yourself I could probably help you out."

"Alright then. Why?"

"I don't know."

John smirked. It was just what he knew and expected. Make a big thing of the question, about how it was asked and who asked it... and then answer it with a simple, "I don't know." But John was relaxed enough on this particular evening to dare and enter into a little friendly argument.

„So… I _deduce_ that someone who calls you a virgin _assumes_ or even _knows_ that you are."

Giving the sentence time to take its effect, silence soon filled 221B's living room. John couldn't suppress the hint of a victorious grin.

After a minute, maybe two, Sherlock finally replied.

"No".

"Okay, he didn't assume or know."

"I meant No like No, I'm not."

"Oh, okay." John was surprised. He didn't expect Sherlock to talk to him about it. He had been trying to wind him up - happy to, for once, be the one to know something the genius detective didn't; that for once he was the one who had the advantage. On the other hand, now that they were on it...

„So, who was the girl?" he asked, digging deeper in his friend's past.

"Who said it was a girl?" Sherlock replied almost immediately.

John realized his mistake right away. And what an embarrassing one it was. He'd known his friend for two years now; had been living with him almost ever since their very first meeting. NEvertheless he was still one huge riddle to him, or at least was which gender Sherlock preferred when it came to his romantic interests.

"Oh… yes. Right. Sorry about that… who was the guy then?" John asked, hoping to still be able to correct his mistake.

A smile tugged at Sherlock's mouth. "I didnt say it was no girl by saying 'who said it was a girl?'. Oh, come on John, when will you ever learn to listen to what I'm actually saying?"

Johns reply was louder than he wanted it to be. Sherlock was driving him crazy. "And when, Sherlock, will you ever stop making a fool of me by twisting words up in your big massive brain?" He gesticulated wildly to emphasize his words - and the dimensions of Sherlock's intellect.

Now the smile on Sherlock's face was a bit more easy to recognize. "Sorry. Didn't intend to embarrass you. All right?"

"No," John replied, a whining note in his voice, "I still wanna know about the girl."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, reluctance showing on his face. "John, we just had that conversation. Who said it was a-"

"For God's sake, Sherlock, stop it!" John shouted, and just like before louder than he wanted to. „ Can't you just be honest with me for _one time_? I don't care if it was a girl or a boy or a bloody alien! I just want you to be honest with me! And I want you to be honest, as I consider myself your... well, best friend!" With a nod John finished off his words, to reaffirm his honest intentions.

"And you call me a Drama Queen …" Sherlock replied, totally unimpressed by John's outburst.

"Sherlock...!" a warning voice came from the desk.

"Okay." Sherlock nodded. "Girl. 21. Me, not her. She was about thirty at that time. I felt mildly attracted to her as she was one of few women who not looked stupid when I spoke to her. In fact she seemed to understand at least half of what I told her. A big surprise, considering my encounters with other people up to this point. By that time I of course knew that being untouched at twenty-one is not really an advantage, or an accepted quality in british society. So I asked her out and... solved the problem."

"The _problem_?" John was stunned. "Dear God, Sherlock, how can sex at the age of twenty-one be a problem?" Johns shook his head in disbelief.

"As I said, I solved it." Sherlock replied, without really answering the question. Something he did as often as he seemed to also like doing it.

"And the poor woman you abused for _solving your problem,_ how did she see things?" John asked, now really intrigued by that topic.

"She obviously wanted to continue our... arrangement. I... didn't. So I ended it. Never saw her again. End of story. Anything else you desperately need to know as my best friend?" Sherlock asked, the sarcastic undertone impossible to miss.

"No. No. I... No. Yes. In fact, yes."

"So?"

"Why did you fool me by saying it might not have been a girl?"

Sherlock gave him a long look straight into his eyes. "Still want me to be honest with you?"

"Sure, yes."

A dramatic little pause followed, before Sherlock spoke again. "Because you wanted to hear it."

John looked at him in disbelief and shock. Sherlock's gaze still rested on him, calm and steady, and made him nervous. Whatever his subconscious had had him phrase, it surely hadn't been intented. Not at all had he wanted to voice such thought. Just for the record: He had no, absolutely no, interests or purposes when it came to_ men._ But the thing was, Sherlock's deductions were reliable. If Sherlock claimed that John had wanted to hear it, then he certainly had his reasons for it... But had it really been all that clever to demand honesty from Sherlock, John wondered while his thoughts were racing? The problem was that no matter how much honesty from the detective's side was involved, one still learned more about oneself than about him. And usually it was also more than one wanted to know.

Sherlock breathing in to say something startled John from his thoughts. He really didn't want to hear anymore today.

"Please switch the light off then. I'm going to bed."

With a relieved sigh John Watson leaned back in his chair.

END


End file.
